


a fine line is practically invisible

by aerxplane



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes-centric, Gen, Hurt Bucky Barnes, One Shot, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Third Person Limited, Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 00:51:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15522456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerxplane/pseuds/aerxplane
Summary: There's a large difference between something slipping your mind, and forgetting something entirely.A slipping of the mind is him briefly forgetting to use the bathroom while in camp because he's too busy playing Egyptian's Rat Slap with his squadron, while forgetting something entirely is failing to remember that his name is James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th Infantry Regiment and he needs to get home.





	a fine line is practically invisible

**Author's Note:**

> im v sorry i cannot write and there are probably mistakes in this oops luckily i am a sad unknown writer so no one can judge me (that being said, please read my shit)

There's a large difference between something slipping your mind, and forgetting something entirely.

 

A slipping of the mind is him briefly forgetting to use the bathroom while in camp because he's too busy playing Egyptian Rat’s Slap with his squadron, while forgetting something entirely is failing to remember that his name is James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th Infantry Regiment and he needs to get home.

 

"Soldier?"

 

"Who are you?"

 

Because a slip of the mind and forgetting something entirely is the difference between lost and stranded.  That's what he tells himself when he feels his eyes grow weak and he forces them open, desperately grasping at his happiness to keep him strong, and the memories come surging back and he knows that they'll never get him, because the recollection of his mother is so much stronger.

 

 _She's laughing as he tugs at her hair, and he's barely ten here, laughing too as he grasps at the locks of hair dangling in front of his face.  Her eyes are light, the same color as the sky and they look at him like she couldn't have wished for a better son and he feels so proud for just being him, for making his mother laugh.  Her hair is light as well, and it glows in the afternoon sun, like a thousand strands of golden silk threaded through the clouds. "James!" She says his name, smiling. "James?" She says again, lightly, like her eyes, and then says it one more time and he savors it, and_ he's strong again.

 

"Solder?"

 

"Let me go!"

 

Because a slip of the mind and forgetting something entirely is the difference between mending and broken.  That's what he chants in his head when he feels his mind begin to tire and he forces him to remember, tries to grasp at his pride so he won't give up, and the memories come flooding back and he knows that he'll never weaken, because the echo of his father is so much louder.

 

_He's fourteen, and he's trying to run two miles in twenty-five minutes, and even though his legs are screaming at him, begging him to stop and his arms are weak and his lungs are on fire, gasping breaths of flame as he runs, he can feel the blisters form on his heels but he keeps going, keeps going despite everything because there's a figure standing twenty one meters from him and they're tiny, miniscule, barely a speck of a person all the way in the distance, but he's waving and screaming "James" and Bucky keeps going because when he reaches the end, his father is waiting for him and he's proud, eyes gleaming as he holds up a timer in front of Bucky's eyes and it reads 23.56 as he slaps his son on the shoulder, his dark eyes gleaming, and suddenly, Bucky could run a thousand more miles if it meant his father could be there at the end for every single one._

 

"Soldier?"

 

"Fuck you."

 

Because a slip of the mind and forgetting something entirely is the difference between painful and numb.  That's what he repeats endlessly when he feels his lips dry and crack and bleed for the millionth time and his throat turn raw and hoarse from all the screaming, and he shakes his head, clearing his mind and tries to grasp for peace so he won’t begin to cry and the memories come trickling back and he knows that he'll never prevail, because the lull of Connie is so much sweeter.

 

 _It's 1943 and he's 26, and he just spent over an hour brushing his Sergeant's uniform because the girl he's been asking out for weeks finally said yes, and he needs to impress her because she's gorgeous.  Connie's perfect, being showy enough to capture his interest with her eyes, but not slutty enough to be showing more skin than dress and she's stunning without trying to be. She's soft at all angles, from her face to her hair to her eyes, and her waist is perfectly form-fitted to his hands and her hips are smooth, he loves to run his fingers over them, lightly, so he doesn't break her— he's always so afraid of breaking her, so he touches her gently and strokes her hair, soft like the rest of her and whispers things into her ear so the flush spreads from her cheeks to her ears and he gets lost in how perfect she is, and he loves her even more when she touches him back and calls him_ Jamie.

 

"Soldier?"

 

“Just fucking give up already."

 

Because a slip of the mind and forgetting something entirely is the difference between dying and dead.  That's what he forces himself to remember on the colder nights when the pain from the day still tears through his body and the wildness runs deeper into his veins and he thinks he's going insane, and he tries to grasp at moments from his past, places, names, and the memories come creeping back and he closes his eyes in temporary relief and tries to sleep, because the reminder of Steve is too soothing for reality.

 

_He trusts Steve Rogers with his life, a truth that sears through him in his blood, the one thing that keeps him bolted to the ground even through the fury of the war, because his best friend is there with him, although this way it's better, because Steve Rogers is Captain America, and he doesn't need protecting.  He never felt a moment of jealousy or envy as Steve rose above the ranks, his uniform slowly getting more holes pricked into it by medals and badges and his tent getting larger and larger, while Bucky's eyes grew harder with each kill, the grime growing under his fingernails faster than he could clean it, and normally he would have been a little spiteful, but this was Steve, and all he could be was proud, proud in Steve and proud in his own belief that he would follow Captain America to the ends of the earth without a second thought, and when Captain America called him Bucky, he was assured that Steve would follow him too._

 

_Because when he has rougher nights, like maybe that picture of Connie that he's always trying to lose comes back to haunt him, the white polaroid of her stood away from the camera, a bright red dress hugging her waist with her lower back showing through the gap in her clothes, with her face peering over her shoulder, hair falling over her eye, and it's almost like he can feel her smile through the photo and he subconsciously feels himself stroke the picture gently, like he's trying to brush the paper hair out of her paper eyes, and then he throws it away, because he can't think about her right now.  The photo comes up in his pocket and then his helmet and even under his pillow when he shifts at night and hears the crinkle, and Steve tells him gently that it's because "he never should forget her, ever" and Bucky hates him for it, but also loves him a little bit too._

 

"Soldier?"

 

"You'll never-"

 

 _His father dies, and suddenly he loses that never ending perseverance that he once had, because why try when there's no one to try for?  And his mother cries, large tears streaming down her face as she stands by her fatherless child and Bucky looks up at her and sees a goddess, but it doesn't last three months before he looks up and sees an alcoholic instead.  His father loses himself in war and his mother loses herself in drink, swirling whiskey— too hard for her frail body— around in a glass cup and it isn't long before she loses herself entirely, loses everything until she’s six feet under the ground and Bucky has to bury her himself because in the middle of winter, no one would help him dig a grave when the ground was so frozen you could barely stand on it without your toes freezing off through your boots.  He feels himself going off the deep end and that's when Connie finds him, and suddenly it isn't so bad anymore, because she fills his parentless void with more love than he deserves_ and he feels a little warmer, basking in the memory of the bittersweet sorrow of her parents and Connie's glowing eyes.

 

But then he remembers how _the tears filled Connie's eyes when he told her that he had to go, for at least a few years, because the army needed him and she began to cry, and he always hated it when she cried, because then she would hide from him, pull her hair over her face and weep, cowering into herself like she was ashamed, even though he would always be there to hold her and list all the reasons why he loved her._

 

Except he couldn't be there for her anymore, because the war was coming, and it was like every shade of unfairness was hurling itself at him when all he wanted was her, and she was the one thing he could never get...

 

"Soldier?"

 

“No—"

 

And suddenly he can't think, he can only see and dream and then _he's on a train and it's too loud, louder than his own thoughts and all he can process is the whistling of the wind, frostbite growing like a virus on his ears, and he still trusts Steve Rogers with his life, which is why he doesn't fear when he's clutching onto the carriage, and Steve reaches out a hand for him to grab, so he takes it—_

 

"Soldier?"

 

"Steve?"

 

 _—and then he falls, and it's too fast and too hard and he still believes that Captain America can save him, until he's not the war hero but Steve Rogers, and he has blue eyes and blond hair and he's crying, and Bucky doesn't know why he's crying until he realises that he can't see him anymore, and he realises that Steve is long gone, gone from the train... and the one crying is him and he's not anywhere, not with his mother or his father or Connie or even with Steve and he's trapped underground and he hasn't seen the light for—_ he doesn't know.

 

And then he realises he doesn't _know_.

 

"Soldier?"

 

And suddenly he can't remember _his mother's voice, and—_ did she have brown hair? _And his father?_  What did he look like?  And he doesn't even know who _Connie_ is, only _a vague sense of sweet sadness,_ but even that begins to fade, and _Steve, small, scrawny, wide-eyed Steve,_ and then _square-jawed, Captain America-Steve, and—_ he can feel it escaping him, and he's trying, so desperately trying, but—

 

"Soldier?"

 

 _—Rogers?  The name must have meant something to him a lifetime ago, but—_ they're tearing it away from him, too fast for him to snatch it back but it's just out of reach and—

 

"Soldier?"

 

And then something slipping your mind, and forgetting something entirely become the exact same thing, because he's stranded and broken and numb to the core, and—

 

"Soldier?"

 

It's _right there_ , just in front of him, and it's swimming in front of his eyes, almost as if it's taunting him, calling out to him, and it's screaming _Steve_ and then _Bucky,_ and then _Steve and Bucky,_ and then—

 

"Soldier?"

 

"...Who... Who's _Steve_?  Who the hell is Bucky?"

 

"Soldier?"

 

—A scream tries to burst its way out of his mouth but his throat is too sore and he can't fight it, he can't hold back, he can’t—

 

"Soldier?"

 

—It's thundering in his ears, wailing, screaming, louder than anything he's ever heard, even louder than... than... something... _a train_ maybe?

 

He can't remember anymore.

 

"Soldier?"

 

_Soldier?  What soldier?  Is someone here—_

 

And his mind goes blissfully blank, and everything stops.

 

"Soldier?"  Arnim Zola asks, finally.

 

And The Winter Soldier speaks.  "Ready to comply." He says.


End file.
